


Prologue

by Philosopher_King



Series: Whatever is done from love [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mouth Sewn Shut, Plot Twists, Sibling Incest, Torture, Trauma, more or less, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 15:53:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11740272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philosopher_King/pseuds/Philosopher_King
Summary: "Loki knew he should have been surprised, but he found that he was not. Betrayed, hurt, devastated; but not surprised."The whole scene seemed familiar to him, as if he had lived it once, perhaps in a dream. But he also knew that great pain and fear could do strange things to the mind, bending and twisting the perception of time until the present felt like a memory, memories like the present, any future like a distant dream. It seemed that he had experienced this before, but it had not been Thor who had done it. Or perhaps it was only a matter of time until someone thought to seal the traitor’s silver tongue, to fill his mouth with his own blood until it drowned all his clever lies."





	Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ravenbringslight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenbringslight/gifts).



> raven-brings-light won a 1000ish-word fic in my giveaway on Tumblr and asked for a take on the myth about Loki's mouth getting sewn shut. I obliged, to the best of my ability. This is a slightly edited version of what I posted on Tumblr.

Loki knew he should have been surprised, but he found that he was not. Betrayed, hurt, devastated; but not surprised.

The whole scene seemed familiar to him, as if he had lived it once, perhaps in a dream. But he also knew that great pain and fear could do strange things to the mind, bending and twisting the perception of time until the present felt like a memory, memories like the present, any future like a distant dream. It seemed that he had experienced this before, but it had not been Thor who had done it. Or perhaps it was only a matter of time until _someone_ thought to seal the traitor’s silver tongue, to fill his mouth with his own blood until it drowned all his clever lies.

He had not expected it would be Thor. But still he was not surprised as he stared up into those all-too-familiar blue eyes, which he usually thought of as being warm and open—the sky after a summer storm—but were now strange and cold, closed off as if by the layer of ice that suffocates all the life in a winter lake. Thor’s gaze was pitiless, unmoved by the broken pleas that Loki stammered at him before his lips were closed for good, the silent plea that still spoke from his tear-filled eyes even as the awl pierced through.

Such an ordinary tool, part of Loki’s mind reflected, a part that watched from above where he lay bleeding and sobbing and holding himself back from screaming, lest the stitches tear through his lips. He had seen Thor use it before to mend a pair of boots or a piece of armor, refusing the assistance of Loki’s seiðr by saying, “I want to be sure I can do it even when I don’t have you to help me.” And so he could. What was leather, after all, but cured flesh, and what was flesh but uncured leather?

The other part of Loki’s mind was nothing but raw feeling; the only articulate thought it could manage was _it hurts, it hurts, it hurts_. The awl piercing through his lips and leaving unyielding leather cord in its wake was only the sharpest pain, almost but not quite crowding out a multitude of others: Thor’s weight crushing the air from his chest; his hands pinned under him, digging into his back, his wrists twisted until he could feel the bones grinding against each other; the shattered belief that Thor had loved him; the sickening taste of his blood pooling in his mouth, trickling down his throat, turning to a stone weight in his stomach; the equally sickening certainty that _he deserved it_.

He thought he remembered, in that strange dream-like way, that it had taken several people to hold him down while another had done the grisly sewing. But Thor was doing it alone, pinning Loki’s body with the length of his own while his hands went about their bloody work. The feeling of that weight atop him was twinned with a clearer memory of the same, a memory of heat and sweat and tenderness and safety. Thor’s body seemed to remember it too: even now Loki could feel a hard length pressing against his thigh where Thor’s legs were parted to trap Loki’s between them. But was it the memory that Thor’s body was answering to (the more distant part of Loki’s mind wondered) or the present moment: the feeling of Loki’s body struggling and trembling beneath his, the sound of his whimpers and muffled screams, the sight of the tears that flowed unchecked down his temples and the blood that streamed from his ruined mouth?

Thor seemed to answer his question by pressing a burning kiss to lips that could not return it. Then he paused to lick the blood from his mouth, slowly, sensuously, before he tied off the leather cord. He bent down to touch his lips to Loki’s again while grinding his hard cock into Loki’s thigh: another pain that the searing agony in his mouth could not quite manage to drown out, along with the ache in his own cock as it twitched against Thor’s belly. Thor must have felt it, because he raised his head to give a mocking, triumphant smile while he pressed himself more firmly down, snaking his torso just so, providing the friction that Loki’s traitorous body craved. He clenched his eyes shut, sick with shame, and it was not only pain that tore a groaning sob from his throat to crash against his tortured lips…

Loki opened his eyes in the dim dawn light of his own bedchamber. All the various pains vanished into uneasy memory save for the throbbing of his cock, a stiffness in his back, and a lingering sense that something terrible was about to happen and whatever it was, he deserved it.

He did his best to push the feeling aside. He knew that what he had done was for the best; he had thought it through very thoroughly. He could not understand why his mind was still tormenting him with distorted memories and absurd fears (or desires?). He had made no bargain this time; he would pay no price if the gambit went awry.

The first of his discomforts he resolutely ignored and hoped that bathing in cold water would resolve the trouble. Perhaps it would also help with the redness and swelling of the flesh around his eyes, he thought, dismayed by the haggard face that stared back at him from the mirror. It would not do for the whole court to see that he had been sleeping poorly, much less weeping. Not on Thor’s coronation day.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I was having trouble coming up with a title. The one I decided on is intended as an oblique reference to the Shakespeare quote "What's past is prologue" as well as a suggestion that this is a kind of prologue to _Thor_ (given the setting), but that's pretty obscure and easily misunderstood. If anyone has any better ideas, please suggest them.


End file.
